A Season of Forgiveness
by Mirage Shinkiro
Summary: G1. Happily ever after is not assured and has to be worked hard for. Prowl and Jazz try to find hope, peace, and love during the Christmas season.
1. To Doubt

_Title: A Season of Forgiveness_  
_Author:_ Mirage Shinkiro

_Rating:_ T, maybe M later  
_Warnings:_ mech/mech

_Disclaimer:_ Transformers is the property of Hasbro, and although I wish I could make money off the TF franchise so I could be independently wealthy, I am not. Alas, I remain poor and am just borrowing the lovely robots.

_Summary:_ G1. Happily ever after is not assured and has to be worked hard for. Prowl and Jazz try to find hope, peace, and love during the Christmas season.

_A/N, explanation:_ For the PxJ lj community's Christmas Challenge. Chapter one is 'summer on Christmas' and chapter two will be 'tropical Christmas.'

_A/N, time units:_ klik=1.2minutes; breem=8.3 minutes; joor=roughly an hour; orn=a day; decaorn=10 days; and vorn=83 years.

* * *

_Lord, make me an instrument of your peace.  
Where there is hatred, let me sow love;  
where there is injury, pardon;  
where there is doubt, faith;  
where there is despair, hope;  
where there is darkness, light;  
and where there is sadness, joy . . .  
--"Prayer of St. Francis of Assisi_

_**Chapter 1: To Doubt**_

The humans had said that Christmas was supposed to be a 'merry,' 'happy,' joyful time, but for Prowl, it was turning out to be more of a nightmare. The first half of the nightmare had involved the approaching winter: coming from a world with no snow and a constant, warm temperate thanks to planetary weather control devices, Prowl and most of the crew were having a hard time adjusting to the bouts of snow or cold rain. Therefore, Prowl found himself actually bending the rules during his monitor duty to have Teletraan run a quick search for warmer locales.

Prowl leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms as he read the search results. Since he and Jazz had leave time coming up, Prowl had immediately begun planning a nice trip for them. Jazz had once mentioned wanting to visit Earth's tropics, specifically hot springs, so Prowl was reading up on said springs at the Arenal volcano in Costa Rica.

Normally, Prowl let Jazz handle these things, but that was where the rest of Prowl's nightmare had asserted itself: they'd been bonded for four vorns now, and Prowl was growing afraid that Jazz was bored or unhappy. 'Bots always joked about the four vorn "itch," supposedly caused in ancient times by a law that forced the couples to 'cycle' on to a new partner. No one remembered now who was in charge of Cybertron then to make such demands, but popular psychology held that the programming created to ensure compliance was still duplicated even now.

Had their relationship already begun to wear thin? Prowl knew his fear was not without basis. Ever since Blaster had arrived on Earth, Jazz had been spending copious amounts of time hanging out with him, even to the point where rumors were beginning to circulate. Some were fairly mundane: "Do you think Prowl and Jazz got in a fight?" Others were insidious: "So Jazz finally woke up, huh? It's about time he ditched Prowl and found someone more his style."

More his style . . .

Prowl frowned and ordered Teletraan I to initiate an audio-only call to the hot springs resort. It was true that Jazz loved music, dancing, and foreign cultures far more than Prowl did, and it was something Jazz and Blaster had in common. Of course, Prowl trusted Jazz implicitly, definitely enough to know Jazz would never step out on him; however, he had to admit that their interfacing life had grown sporadic and routine. They rarely went on special outings anymore, either. They just got up, did their jobs, came back, maybe watched a joor of Earth television, and recharged. Every orn. Without variation, unless there was a battle.

And, except the issue with their love life, Prowl didn't mind that.

In truth, Prowl liked routines. He liked knowing what to expect, liked spending quiet time with Jazz, liked simply sharing a life with Jazz. Prowl saw nothing at all wrong with loving someone enough to share the simplest, most ordinary, and even most tedious things with him.

But that was not Jazz. And, Prowl realized, that was the problem.

Jazz was, by his most basic nature, an improviser. He liked excitement, change, challenge, spontaneity, and uniqueness. It was an attribute Prowl loved in him, and he didn't mind going along for the ride, either. Not every orn, of course. But that was why they'd agreed early on that outside friendships were a good thing, and Prowl had never believed that he and Jazz had to fill every single one of each other's needs. He wasn't naïve enough to think they could.

But now Prowl wondered if maybe he had not played enough of a role in this area. Should he have been taking Jazz to more special places? Trying new interfacing techniques? Providing new experiences? Had Jazz latched on to Blaster because he was giving more than Prowl was?

Prowl shuddered. His logic circuits couldn't quite make sense of it: Jazz asked from time to time for Prowl to go to a concert, try something kinky, or do something new. Prowl had always said yes, understanding his mate's personality. So if Jazz were unhappy, would he not have said something? Would he not have known Prowl would say yes or, at the very least, work out a compromise? It wasn't like Prowl had minded. In fact, some of the things they did he very much _enjoyed._

Prowl's thoughts were interrupted as Teletraan I secured the connection to Earth's slow, primitive technology. A woman answered the telephone on the other end, and Prowl used his translation protocols to speak to her in Spanish. Maybe a surprise trip to the hot springs would both help and provide a starting point for a conversation about their relationship.

If Jazz was unhappy, Prowl wanted to know.

oOoOo

Prowl didn't like the way the rec room grew suspiciously quiet when he entered. Normally, that only happened if there was 1.) a party or 2.) a prank being planned. However, as usual he swept across the room toward the energon dispenser without reacting. He'd spied Jazz at a corner table with Blaster, and he was making his way there when he noticed a chorus of whispers at the mini-bots' table. Whispers and glances his way. Prowl held back a frown. So, the rumor mill was at it again.

When Prowl approached Jazz's table, Blaster stood and gestured to his seat. "Here ya go, sir." He smiled and waved at Jazz. "Catch ya later, man!"

"See ya!" Jazz smiled and shifted his gaze to his bondmate. "Hey, Prowler. Actually takin' yer break today?"

Prowl watched Blaster walk off, then sat down. "Yes, I'm trying to make sure I at least take a breem." They didn't always see each other at the mid-shift break, since such breaks were staggered, so Prowl considered himself fortunate to be able to talk to Jazz so soon. "I think we set off the gossipers just now."

Jazz snorted. "What for?" He shook his head. "Ignore 'em. What's up?"

"Well . . ." Prowl paused, unsure how to broach the topic. He glanced around the room to assure he wouldn't be overheard, then dropped his voice. "I've noticed that you're spending a lot of time with Blaster, and I admit it's beginning to concern me. So I thought -"

Jazz snorted, again, this time louder. "Ah, Prowler, it's just because Blaster and I have stuff in common. Ya love music, but it isn't _who_ ya are like it is with me. And that's fine. Ya know ya don't have to share _everythin'_ with me. " Jazz shook his head. "Ratchet said something snide 'bout that to me earlier today. Whatever, man. We both agreed long ago that it's healthy to have outside friends. Blaster's someone who loves music as much as I do. It's kinda nice, ya know? There's nothin' wrong with that."

Prowl couldn't logically disagree with anything Jazz said, but somehow he still felt like something was sliding through his fingers. Like Jazz was slipping slowly away from him. Perhaps it was how defensive Jazz seemed. Prowl hadn't been able to even finish his sentence before Jazz had launched what amounted to a near-rant. "What did Ratchet say to you?"

"Ah, something about me ignorin' ya." Jazz shrugged. "I'm doin' no such thing."

Prowl wasn't quite sure what to do with that statement. "Well, our leave time is this coming decaorn, so I thought we could take a trip. After some research, I-"

"This comin' decaorn?" Jazz sat forward abruptly, clearly surprised. "Ah, man, I totally forgot about that! I'm sorry."

"You forgot?" Prowl was so stunned he could hardly speak. Jazz, forget their vacation time together? Jazz never forgot _anything_ to do with them.

"Yeah. I knew we were due some leave, but I didn't remember when our 'turn' was." Jazz shrugged, an embarrassed smile on his lips. "I kinda made plans with Blaster already. Ya see, there's this awesome benefit concert, lots of good bands. Can we go durin' the next decaorn instead? Prime's usually pretty cool 'bout that."

The next decaorn? Prowl stared at him, too hurt to explain. What was happening? Jazz was always excited to go places with him. He felt his spark clench painfully, sending a burning sensation through his circuits. He looked away, his gaze landing on his cube. It felt like a clear rejection, leaving Prowl's cheeks stinging as surely as though he'd been slapped. "I'll . . . ask him." It was worse than he'd feared. He stood without another word and left, abandoning his energon in the process.

He barely made it into the elevator before his processor froze and crashed.

oOoOo

Prowl stared at himself in the mirror that Sunstreaker and Tracks had insisted be installed in the medbay. His paint was dull, and no matter how straight he held his shoulders, he still looked droopy and tired. Hardly the kind of thing to hold Jazz's attention.

Had they both grown complacent? Were they taking each other for granted? Prowl's processor kept giving him an endless list of possible problems.

Ratchet whisked into the room and glared at him. "Get your aft back on that berth! You don't need to be moving around yet, and I haven't fixed your chevron."

Prowl obeyed without argument, returning to his berth and sitting on the edge. He stared listlessly across the room: empty berths, shiny steel tools, crates of medical supplies . . .

"Hey." Ratchet walked in front of him and knelt in his line of view. "You going to tell me what happened?"

Prowl didn't so much as twitch as Ratchet worked to unbend the corner of his chevron, which he'd slammed into the elevator wall when he'd locked up. "Too much emotional input at once." So much, in fact, that he felt numb now, his logic circuits and processor having protected him by plunging him into a depressive nothingness. He didn't feel like he was actually present or real.

"'Too much emotional input?'" Ratchet repeated, frowning.

It was the simplest answer, and it was true. Prowl had realized quite suddenly that he'd failed in his role as bondmate, and the shock and despair had overwhelmed him. He supposed his view of the matter was rather traditional: even though Jazz didn't need his protection and was one of the most dangerous mechs they had, Prowl still considered it his job to be his champion. Not necessarily physically, although Prowl would do that if needed. But Prowl believed that good bondmates supported and cherished each other's hopes, dreams, and feelings, and he had thought he'd been doing just that. However, if Jazz were feeling so deprived that he forgot their upcoming leave and chose a concert with Blaster over a trip with his bondmate, then obviously Prowl had utterly failed.

_Utterly_ failed.

Prowl didn't even realize Sunstreaker was in the room until he also leaned into his line of view.

"What's wrong with him?" Sunstreaker asked his bondmate.

Ratchet sighed. "I think it probably has something to do with Jazz, although Prowl's not talking."

Prowl was used to being talked about like he wasn't there, so he simply listened, wondering how long it would be before the newly-bonded glow wore off for Ratchet and the twins. They had been bonded less than a stellar cycle, having done so after waking up on Earth. The Ark was still buzzing about it, actually, because until their relationship had turned serious, no one had realized split-spark twins _had_ to both bond to the same 'bot.

"Jazz?" Sunstreaker smirked. "'Cause of Blaster? Yeah, right." He leaned more into Prowl's face. "Besides, I thought you were taking Jazz to some hot springs. Isn't that what you were researching when you broke your own rules this morning?"

"I was," Prowl replied tonelessly, ignoring the barb.

Sunstreaker shook his head and made shooing motions at Ratchet. "Leave him with me. He needs a good coat of new paint and a kick in the head."

"Sunny!" Ratchet frowned.

Prowl didn't bother to come to his own defense. He couldn't seem to find the energy. His entire processor was trying to formulate a strategy to fix his relationship with Jazz, only to trip on the concept that Jazz had to be willing to spend time with him first.

And right now it looked like he didn't want to.

Sunstreaker managed to run Ratchet off, then turned and crossed his arms. "You know, when you don't keep yourself up, it suggests to your mate that you've lost interest." He grabbed Prowl's arm, almost bodily dragging him to his feet and out of the room. "Keeping yourself up, like fresh paint, and keeping yourself healthy -" He threw Prowl a glare. "- like getting enough rest and energon, shows your mate that you have investment in your relationship. After all, if you don't care about yourself, why the slag would you care about your mate? If you don't keep yourself up, why would he think you care if he keeps himself up?"

Prowl wondered vaguely why Sunstreaker even was able to give relationship advice, being so young and newly bonded, and why he was bothering to share it. Then again, ever since he'd bonded to Ratchet, Sunstreaker had radiated a certain peace and joy he'd lacked before.

With an internal shrug, Prowl dropped the line of questioning. His numbness and the despondency that threatened to drown it made him feel too tired to even ask where they were headed.

"If you'd been bonded since your creation, though, you'd know problems never form in a void." Sunstreaker frowned at him, manhandling him down the hallway. "Your attitude and problem are reflections of something going on inside of Jazz. It takes two 'bots to bond, and it takes two 'bots to frag up a bond."

Only then did a surge of panic pierce Prowl's daze. "We're fragged up?" It took him a moment to realize he'd both responded and repeated the cursing.

Sunstreaker smirked, seemingly much amused. "You think you're the first to ever do it? Have you _seen_ Sides and I fight?"

Prowl wanted to point out they were brothers and shared a spark between them, so by definition it had to be different. However, he swallowed his urge to point out the illogic and just accepted that since Sunstreaker was also bonded to Ratchet, he knew what he was talking about.

They'd reached the washracks, and Sunstreaker pulled him inside with little ado. "You have to be perfectly clean, or I can't repaint you." He pushed Prowl onto a stool and set about gathering cleaning supplies.

Prowl didn't bother to argue. Arguing with Sunstreaker was useless even on a good orn, and using a direct order would be overkill. He was trying to help, after all.

"Let me guess." Sunstreaker lined up bottles, some of which Prowl didn't even know the use for. "You thought having a bond meant you'd always know what your bondmate was thinking or feeling? Or you thought it meant you'd always sense when something was wrong? You thought it'd constantly convey your love for you?" He snorted, then continued without waiting for an answer. "_Everyone_ always thinks stuff like that. They can't figure out why Sides and I have knock-down, drag-out fights if we are so intimately connected. Ha!"

Prowl jumped faintly at the sharpness of Sunstreaker's exclamation, then settled back into the void. He knew from previous experience that trying to force his processor forward or his emotional programs online would just result in more crashes.

Still, he had to admit Sunstreaker was right.

"Sure, you _can_ tap directly into your bonded." Sunstreaker grabbed a nozzle, pulling until the cord was fully extended. "But it takes energy and effort. Most 'bots find a comfortable maintenance point that's more a vague sense about the other: he's alive, he's awake, etc. Only the really powerful emotions get through unaided." He pointed the nozzle at Prowl. "It is a constant stream." He turned on the water, spraying Prowl down. "So you take it for granted and stop really noticing it after awhile, just like the water against your armor during a bath."

Prowl stared down at the water rivulets gently flowing over him and understood. "You're saying I missed whatever is wrong because the bond is background noise in my mind that I became habituated to."

"Exactly. Now you'd only notice it if something went suddenly, badly wrong." Sunstreaker turned the control on the nozzle, hitting him with cold water.

Prowl jumped and gasped, holding up his arms.

"Now you notice." A pause, and then the warm water returned.

Prowl lowered his arms and realized he'd severely underestimated what Sunstreaker had been hiding under those dark scowls and cold glares. "What do I do?"

Sunstreaker sighed, turning off the nozzle and dropping it to the floor. "You mean other than the obvious 'go and find out what's wrong and fix it?'" He walked over and knelt in front of Prowl, gazing at him silently for a klik before picking up a bottle and shaking it. "You have to learn to communicate effectively, either with the bond or with words. Or, if you're really as smart as all that, _both_."

"Communicate?" Prowl stared at him. Had this really all happened due to a lack of communication? He tentatively reached over the bond, trying to reach Jazz on purpose, and recoiled when he hit a wall of anger.

Anger? Prowl wilted further. He really _had_ utterly failed. He could only hope Jazz would listen if he did talk.

It didn't seem promising.

oOoOo

As soon as his shift ended, Jazz began his now daily trek to Blaster's quarters, having no idea Prowl had actually spent the afternoon being subjected to Sunstreaker's repainting process. Knowing Prowl never quite got out of his office on time, at least not since they'd arrived on Earth, Jazz assumed he had a joor or two to kill, and he knew exactly who he wanted to spend it with. With a smile, he bounced up to Blaster's cabin door and buzzed the comm.

Blaster opened the door almost immediately and rather theatrically bowed him into the room. "Hey, man. Come in."

"What'cha watchin'?" Jazz asked as he entered. He considered the screen for a moment: an animated scene of a girl talking with Santa Claus. "A Christmas movie?" The human holiday fascinated him.

"Apparently it's called _Dot and Santa Claus._" Blaster winced. "I was gonna start channel suffering, actually. I'm still confused by Earth's time increments, but I'm hoping _Dallas_ is on."

Jazz snapped his fingers. "Or _The Cosby Show_!"

"Or _Magnum, P.I._" Blaster grinned, sounding quite enthusiastic, and jumped over the back of the couch.

"Or _Cheers._" Jazz joined him. "It's really fascinatin' to see what humans find dramatic or funny, and sometimes I find it funny, too."

Blaster hesitated before changing the channel, but Jazz thought nothing of it. He focused momentarily on the animated movie, trying to figure out why this Dot girl was asking Santa Claus to help her find her missing kangaroo.

"Uh, Jazz . . ." Blaster sounded a bit uncomfortable. "Shouldn't you maybe spend the evening with Prowl?"

"Hm?" Jazz turned his face toward Blaster, although his optics stayed on the viewscreen. Not that Blaster would know the difference thanks to the visor.

"Jazz, I may be new, but I catch on fast. You've been spending all your time here when off duty." Blaster leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "And I heard that you turned down a trip with Prowl so you can go to the concert with me. Don't'cha think Prowl's gonna get jealous?"

Jazz shifted his full attention to Blaster. "Nah, he's not insecure enough to get jealous." He shrugged. "Besides, we agreed a long time ago that it's healthy ta have outside friends. Especially ones who share our interests. _You_ like rock concerts. He doesn't." He couldn't help the note of irritation that slipped into his voice.

Blaster raised one optic ridge at him. "You're mad? Because Prowl wanted to spend time with you and it'd get in the way of the concert?"

Snorting, Jazz turned his attention back to the little girl and her kangaroo rescue mission. Blaster didn't get it. At the beginning of his relationship with Prowl, Jazz had been ready to sacrifice almost anything to be with him. He'd loved him for vorns: loved the mixing of creativity and logic, loved the quick exchanges of ideas and wit, loved Prowl's quiet understanding and listening audio, loved his dry humor and quirky smiles. He'd loved almost everything there was to Prowl, save his overreliance on The Rules, which was something he was determined to change or at least loosen.

Their biggest personality difference, of course, had been Prowl's need for uniformity versus his own need for spontaneity. To an extent, they acted like balancers: Prowl kept him from getting too wild, and he kept Prowl from getting too staid. But when Jazz had realized how difficult it was going to be to work out a compromise, he'd often capitulated to Prowl's needs on smaller things, not wanting to run off the one whom he loved and had wanted to bond with. He had continued to capitulate over 'the little things' even after they'd bonded, putting Prowl's needs over his own 80 percent to 20 percent.

Jazz had capitulated again and again until his quiet, buried resentment had burst full force. Prowl had never recognized or returned his sacrifices.

Sighing, Jazz sighed sank his face into his hands. It seemed silly to think of it that way, that what he did was a sacrifice to be rewarded. But if he were honest with himself, and he generally was, then he had to admit that he felt exactly that. Didn't Prowl notice? Didn't he care? Why wasn't he giving anything back?

Blaster scooted closer and put a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, man. Are you okay?"

Dropping his hands, Jazz looked up at his new friend. "Not really," he admitted. In truth, he was being hounded by the rumors, and it angered him. He'd lied to Prowl; Ratchet had actually asked if he were leaving Prowl for Blaster. Several 'bots had implied the same thing. It was stupid. Ridiculous! Just because he wanted a little something for himself didn't mean he was going to cheat on his bondmate and try to break the bond.

"What's up, then?" Blaster asked, squeezing his shoulder before dropping his hand.

"Well, it's not that I don't want to spend time with Prowl," he finally admitted. "It's just bad timin'." _It's just that I have needs, too._ "I don't get to go to a lot of rock concerts since Prowl hates 'em so much." _And he gets off balance if our routine stays out of whack for too long._ "I musta slagged him off if you've heard all 'bout it, but ya know, I'd like to do somethin' _I'm_ interested in." _For a change._

Blaster stared at Jazz. "Are you blind or stupid?"

"Huh?" Jazz frowned at him.

"I don't think this is as simple as you think. Or as obviously innocent in the optics of others." Blaster shook his head. "Do ya know that Smokescreen actually stopped me in the hall earlier today and asked me if we'd 'faced yet? Apparently some 'bots think you're cheating on Prowl with me and are taking bets as to when we'll, ah, 'consummate' it."

Jazz stared at him in horror. "I-what?" _Ain't it blaringly obvious just how much I love Prowl from all the sacrifices I've made?_

"Sunstreaker told me all about it. Apparently he saw Prowl staring forlornly in the medbay mirror and forced him to sit still for a new paint job." Blaster sighed. "Jazz, you say you want to do something you're interested in, but do ya even know where Prowl was planning to take you?"

Jazz was beginning to get a bad feeling. "No." _I didn't even ask._

"Some hot springs in Costa Rica."

"Hot - springs -" Jazz felt like he'd been kicked in the spark. He'd mentioned wanting to visit hot springs a few decaorns ago. Prowl had apparently remembered it, which both made him feel surprised at the consideration and guilty for not hearing Prowl out earlier.

Blaster crossed his arms. "Prowl's a smart 'bot. He knows something's wrong." He cocked his head to the side. "Look, I'll hang out with you anytime, man. Anytime at all. Share music. Go to concerts. But I ain't attracted to you _that_ way, and I've got my optics on Tracks." He smirked. "I also ain't slagging off the SIC by accidentally stealing his bondmate. I don't need that kinda trouble. So you and Prowl get this figured out first, then we'll hang out again."

Jazz didn't have to be told twice. He reached out tentatively and nudged his bond with Prowl. A wave of devastation and depression poured through. He bolted to his feet from the shock. "Got'cha. Thanks, man." He rushed from the room without looking back, transformed in the hallway, and tore out of the base toward the coordinates Teletraan I indicated was Prowl's location.

Night had already fallen, dousing their odd strip of desert with an inky blackness only broken by a sliver of crescent moon. Racing across the sand, Jazz kicked up a storm cloud of dust and flew past boulders and cacti as he rushed to Prowl. Their bond's daily status had sunk rather low since they'd awakened on Earth. Jazz figured that they'd been working so hard to get the crew acclimated and deal with the new challenges that they'd let the pressure and stress flatten the bond somewhat. Now that Jazz really _wanted_ to use the bond to reach out to Prowl, he couldn't get it open enough to transmit thoughts. All he could get was his mate's pain.

He used to pride himself on being able to read Prowl's every doorwing flick and subtle words behind words. How, then, had he missed something as obvious as Prowl's distress over their relationship and his attempt to broach it?

Jazz spotted Prowl sitting on a boulder at the edge of a dry river bed. The moonlight shone off the pristine white patches of his new paint, making him look like an ethereal, untouchable statue. Prowl didn't even look up as Jazz skidded to a stop and transformed. "Prowler?"

Prowl's unmoving gaze was disturbingly vacant. "I'm sorry." His voice was so low Jazz had to boost the gain on his audios.

"Hey, I was wrong to not let ya finish talkin'. I kinda brushed ya off." Jazz frowned, trying to gather all his conflicting thoughts. "I gotta say ya took me by surprise. We haven't done, well, _anything_ since we woke up here. I wasn't tryin' to be an aft, I swear, but ya know how much I love music and concerts. And I've been really excited about this one that's comin' up." He sighed, staring down into the cracked river bed. "We hadn't done anythin' special in so long, I guess I just wasn't expectin' it." The anger edged its way back into his voice, and he cringed. He didn't want to start a fight . . .

. . . and yet, at the same time, he wanted to ask the questions he'd left unvoiced. _ 'Don't you see? Don't you care'?_

Prowl flinched and finally looked up. "Why didn't you say you were unhappy?" He sounded so very confused. "Is it true? Have we failed to actually communicate? I can't fix a problem I don't know exists."

The sheer shock flew straight to Jazz's processor. "Ya couldn't _tell?_ I live for challenges and new experiences, and ya thought I'd be happy doing the same thing every orn for the rest of my life?"

Prowl shrank in on himself, his doorwings flattening to his back. "I am very happy doing even the mundane with you," he whispered, not meeting Jazz's gaze. "But I know that you like new things, and that's why I made the reservations."

"I _know_ yer happy as is. And I love ya, so I've always put yer needs first." Jazz clenched his fists and released all his frustration at once. "So why couldn't _you_ do the same for me? I'm not askin' ya to change who you are! I'm not gonna demand that ya 'be more fun' or 'lighten up' or whatever. I just expected ya to show me the same consideration I was showin' _you_."

Prowl pulled his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around his legs, bracing his feet against the boulder. He didn't look up. "I wasn't seeing it that way. Since you were so extroverted and open, I thought you'd let me know if you felt things were out of balance or if you needed anything. I honestly thought you were happy with our life together, and I never imagined that you'd continually sacrifice your well-being. I suppose I was terribly naïve."

Jazz sighed explosively, wondering how Prowl could miss the obvious. "Prowl, did ya ever consider doin' somethin' just because ya love me?"

"Yes." Prowl's doorwings perked up, growing rigid with stress or perhaps anger. "I am not good with spontaneity, but I have managed to surprise you with trips or outings or such things before."

Jazz relented, realizing Prowl was right. It wasn't like Prowl had never done anything for him or hadn't shown him love after bonding. "Okay, yer right. But I need _more_ of that. If I'm gonna sit through a daily routine with ya, then you need to 'sit' through more excitin' adventures with me."

Prowl stood abruptly. Stiffly. "I apologize. I did not realize that daily life with me took such endless labor and sacrifice to maintain."

_Oops._ Jazz cringed despite his irritation. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Perhaps not, but it amounts to the same." Prowl's doorwings relaxed into that unnatural stillness that suggested he was suppressing his emotions, although his facial expression never showed anything. "I did not mean to so utterly fail you as a mate. I will endeavor to provide you with sufficient excitement to relieve the boredom of our daily existence."

"Prowl -" Jazz held out his hand, realizing he hadn't done a very good job of expressing his pain. He'd held it in too long and now had made the situation worse when he finally did speak up.

Prowl turned and headed back toward the Ark. "We lost our reservations and leave time because I did, indeed, ask to reschedule. I will come up with something else for us, however."

Jazz watched Prowl transform and race away, back to base. He felt exhausted suddenly. He knew he wasn't wrong to want some equal given and take, but he also realized they were equally at fault for not communicating with each other.

And now it was worse.

* * *

_Postscript: Thank you to pl2363 and Asher119 for the beta. Chapter 2 is forthcoming using the second prompt._

_Yes, _Dot and Santa Claus _is a real motive about a girl searching for her pet kangaroo and enlisting Santa's help. LOL_

_The concept of the mirror being installed in medbay comes from Crimson Starlight._


	2. To Grant

_O Divine Master, grant that I may not so much seek  
to be consoled as to console;  
to be understood as to understand;  
to be loved as to love.  
For it is in giving that we receive;  
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned;  
and it is in dying that we are born to eternal life.  
--"Prayer"_

_**Chapter 2: To Grant**_

Prowl stared at the pile of datapads filling his office desk, his processor wavering between depression and anger. He was supposed to be concentrating on the mass of reports: energon usage reports, duty rosters, disciplinary measures, noteable comms traffic, supply reports . . . the pile was exhausting just to look at, and he needed to finish them before his shift ended since there would be more of the same the next orn. However, his argument with Jazz the previous night would not leave him alone. On one hand, he was devastated to have so utterly failed his duty as a bondmate. On the other hand, he was wildly hurt that Jazz found him so incredibly boring. He wasn't quite sure which to react to first, but his processor managed to land solidly on the anger.

If he were so boring, why were they together? Why had they ever been together? If Prowl had to continually fight to hold his mate's interest and attention and bribe his affections with endless trips and outings, did they even have a real relationship?

Prowl growled. _Everyone_ had always said he was boring. Read novels? Boring. Play human chess? Boring. Attend operas and symphonies? Cultivate a crystal garden? Study ancient history and philosophy? Boring, boring, _boring._ He'd been made fun of his entire life, but he'd done his best to ignore it. After all, _he_ was happy with who he was. He just gave up on the concept that anyone else would like him.

It had followed him right through all his promotions: 'Prowl needs to lighten up,' 'Prowl's electrons are even alphabetized' or 'Prowl wouldn't know what fun was even if it kicked him in the head.' Oh, his superiors had loved his work ethic and counted on him to carry far more than his fair share of the work load. But they all seemed to assume he had no feelings or was too logical to be hurt, sometimes to the point of carrying on extended conversations about him in front of him like he weren't present.

Abruptly, Prowl smacked the entire stack of datapads off his desk. They hit the walls and floor with a satisfying _crash_, and Prowl crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, growling to himself again. The worst part, though, hadn't actually been his loneliness. The worst part had been the utter disrespect his few lovers had shown him. They had dated him with a mind to 'fix' him and would do things like show up in his office and come on to him. As long as he was officially off duty, he didn't mind a pleasant surprise now and then. But they had been pushy. They didn't even care if he were overwhelmed with work. They would distract him and bug him until he gave in, not caring that it put him behind. 'Ah, you work too hard!' 'Ah, you need to loosen up!' It was almost like a _game_ to them to see if they could distract him or not. Like Prowl himself wasn't even a person.

Who did they think was going to finish those reports? Who was going to take care of them if he didn't fulfill his duties? Did they even _care_ how he felt about it? It's _all good_ if he got an overload out of it?

"Fraggers," Prowl spat, shoving away from his desk and glaring at the fallen datapads. He'd held in his rage at the time. He'd held it in his entire life. The few times he'd expressed his anger or hurt, he'd been laughed at. The few times he'd been open or blunt, he'd been punished for it, one way or another. No one understood. They didn't want to. _Their_ way was 'better.' Their hobbies and tastes and values were 'better.' _He_ was just 'weird.'

In the end, Prowl had always dumped them, and they'd wailed in horror that _he_ would have the audacity to break it off.

He had given up on the concept of love and totally surrendered to his career when he met Jazz.

Prowl sighed, stood, and walked over to the scattered datapads, kneeling down and picking them up. His memories of it all were so clear: Jazz had been different. He'd never been pushy. He genuinely liked operas, symphonies, and games of logic and strategy. He was awed by the complexity of Prowl's miniature crystal garden, had read and liked some of the same novels, and freely engaged in philosophical discussions.

At first it'd just been a friendship, but Prowl had found himself magnetized by Jazz's humor, vivacity, and pure zest for life. He'd enjoyed their dates, no matter how random or exotic the location had been. Just watching Jazz enjoy his surroundings had been fulfilling.

And never once, not once, had Jazz implied that Prowl was boring or no fun to be around.

Until now.

Prowl stood and thunked the datapads down on his desk, his anger draining from him. If Jazz truly found life with him boring, it was hopeless. Prowl couldn't change who he was. He stared at his white hand resting on top of the stack of grey datapads. Monotone. His paint, his office, his world . . . all monotone. He'd thought Jazz had accepted him and loved him for who he was, and the thought that maybe he hadn't bled his entire universe grey.

Of course, it didn't help that Prowl had utterly failed his duty as a bondmate, no matter how unintentional it had been. He _loved_ Jazz, and it hurt to think he'd failed to support him, champion his dreams, or fulfill his wishes.

He thought he had been. He'd supported Jazz's quest to become the chief of special ops. He'd supported his goal to become third-in-command. When they'd been on Cybertron, every time they'd gotten leave he'd taken Jazz to what few nice locations they had left. He had been unaware there was a problem, always thinking of Jazz as his equal and never imagining that Jazz was self-sacrificing to keep him happy. Jazz was so outgoing, Prowl had never imagined he wouldn't speak up.

Prowl sighed and dropped back in his chair, trying to bring his emotions under control. His shift was up in two breems, but he still had twenty reports left to read. He pulled the top one off the stack, turned on the screen, and tried to focus on the contents.

His concentration lasted 1.43 kliks.

Prowl tossed the datapad onto his desktop and sagged in his chair. Things had changed when they'd awakened on Earth, but Prowl hadn't realized how much. Earth was a far more fascinating planet, since it wasn't a burned out husk of a world, but it didn't occur to Prowl to simply grab Jazz in the evening and just take him somewhere. Anywhere. He'd failed to consider how much Jazz needed that. He hated rock music, and since Jazz had friends who did like it, Prowl didn't think to take him to a concert simply because Jazz would want to share the experience with him.

Not being one to accept any kind of failure from himself, Prowl felt a surge of self-hatred. He sifted through the datapads on the desk until he found the one concerning his and Jazz's leave time and destination, then he added it to the out box. He couldn't get them reservations at the hot springs again, so he'd researched Costa Rica's beaches instead, looking for something more remote and private. He'd found a suitable spot on the Nicoya Peninsula and called to make reservations. The thought of the trip filled him with dread, though. It might be his only chance to fix their relationship, and he didn't want to consider what would happen if he failed in this, too.

All his thoughts left him with a processor ache. His door hinges throbbed in his back from holding his doorwings too stiffly, and every circuit in his body seemed to burn with his anguish. Suddenly, it hurt too much. Nothing seemed to matter.

Prowl stood, leaving the unfinished pile of datapads on his desk, and stopped only long enough to log himself off-duty. After a quick comm. to Prime concerning his intentions, he left the Ark entirely, feeling like he was suffocating.

oOoOo

Jazz glanced up from the movie he was watching – alone this time – as the door comm. buzzed. He wasn't expecting any visitors, but normally he would assume some friend had popped by after his shift. This evening was different, however. Prowl wasn't in his office and wasn't there in their quarters, and given their fight the night before, Jazz felt uneasy about that. He stood from the couch and jogged across to the door, letting his visitor in manually instead of triggering the door from across the room.

A towering Prime, fists on hips, awaited him. "Jazz."

"Optimus." Not good, not good. Prime didn't get angry often, aside from at the 'Cons. Jazz stepped aside, gesturing for him to enter.

Prime swept into the cabin, turning to face him as Jazz shut the door. "Would you like to tell me why Prowl, my _rule-abiding, by-the-book_ SIC, left his shift a breem early _without_ finishing his work and then asked permission to leave the base in order to be alone?" Narrowed blue optics glared at Jazz. "Is this rumor I heard true? Are you having an affair with Blaster? Is your relationship with Prowl breaking up?"

Jazz felt ice pierce his systems as surely as though Ironhide had sprayed him with liquid nitrogen. "_No!_" He paused to get his anger under control. "No, Blaster and I are just friends." _Prowl has left? Left without finishing his work?_ A surge of worry flashed through Jazz's systems, a fear compounded by the angry Prime filling up the center of his quarters.

"Primus, Jazz." Optimus exhaled heavily and pressed his fingers against one temple in a gesture he'd absorbed from Sparkplug. "You know I normally stay out of my mechs' personal lives, but you and Prowl aren't just my officers. You're my friends."

"There is no affair," Jazz reiterated. "I love Prowl. Always." And it was true. No matter how rough of a patch they might face, Jazz couldn't imagine dissolving their bond. "Please, tell me what happened. Is Prowl all right?" He gestured for Optimus to have a seat in the oversized chair in the living area.

Prime drew air through his intakes slowly, then sat down. "I'm not entirely sure. All I know is that something is wrong. What has happened, Jazz? I'm not ordering you to tell me; I'm asking as your friend. And Prowl is my friend. We were friends before you even came into the picture, and I know how much you mean to him."

Jazz took a seat on the couch and tried to bring his feelings under control: fear and pain, desperation and frustration. "It's . . . I got slagged off. I feel like I'm doin' all the givin' in our relationship." He clenched his fists. "I don't get it. I do things for him all the time, things he enjoys or needs. But he doesn't seem to be givin' me the same consideration. He loves me, but we only rarely do things I enjoy or need."

Aggravated and yet terrified of destroying his relationship with Prowl, Jazz jumped up and began pacing back and forth across the room. "I mean, do I have'ta stand on top of a building and scream what I want? Is it wrong to want some needs anticipated or to want a surprise? Where's the romance and spontaneity of havin' to spell it out every time: 'Hey, I'm bored, man. Let's drive down to San Francisco.'" He sighed. "Is it wrong to want to be surprised with a romantic evenin' out or a get-away just because he loves me?"

Prime shook his head. "No, Jazz. It's not wrong at all. But my guess is that you'll first have to say, 'I need you to surprise me at times,' and then give Prowl a list of ideas. Prowl isn't as inherently creative as you are. He's creative in a sense: he's quick-minded and can easily generate solutions or plans. But it's not going to occur to him to, say, hop up and take you to Paris or Venice, especially when you're not commemorating something specific."

"Why not?" Jazz sighed and stopped pacing so he could sink his face into his hands. "I mean, I know he's not the same as me, but . . ."

"Don't you know?" The tone was gentle – the kind voice of a commander who loved them like a creator and teacher. "Let me remind you anyway: you are inherently intuitive. You easily discern the feelings and emotional motives of others. You 'read' others, consciously notice subtle cues in their tone or body language. You're going to be able to ascertain Prowl's moods and most of his needs without him saying anything. That's your gift."

Jazz lifted his head and nodded. "I get ya." With a weary sigh, he dropped back onto his couch.

"But it's not Prowl's gift," Prime continued. "Prowl is very hands-on. He has to see it, hear it, touch it, and experience it. Therefore, he constantly gathers data on you: your words, your behavior, your body language, your tone. But he can't easily intuit what is not overtly expressed."

Jazz stared at Optimus. "Well . . . yeah. I can see that." He already knew it all, technically, but for some reason it made more sense when someone else laid it out for him.

"Do you find Prowl to be cold?" Prime leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees.

"No." Jazz glanced away. Actually, Prowl always touched him as they recharged, whether they had made love first or not: held him, put an arm around him, or at the very least rested his hand on his arm or leg. _Except last night,_ he thought, horrified. _He didn't touch me at all last night._

Prime nodded. "I don't see him that way, either. His systematic data gathering about you isn't cold. Far from it. He takes in as much information as he can because he loves you and is trying to attend to you. But before he can arrive at the right conclusion, he has to have a complete set of data. And he can't do that if you're not talking to him."

Jazz pressed his fingers to his helm in a futile gesture to stop the sudden throbbing in his processor core. "So yer tellin' me this is all my fault?"

"Not at all." Optimus leaned back in his chair once more. "Apparently, Prowl didn't ask, and you didn't tell. Neither one of you is openly communicating." Prime lifted his gaze and stared out into the room, as though deep in thought. "It's a common mistake, really. People _assume._ And they make assumptions based on their own personalities, beliefs, experiences, and desires. They don't easily realize or value differences, and in a relationship, that's dangerous. Ask. Check. Never assume."

Jazz felt a pulse of suspicion. "Voice of experience?"

"Definitely." Optimus chuckled and met his gaze. "But let me assure you that there's nothing wrong with what you want. Never doubt that your needs aren't equally important or valid."

Jazz nodded. "It's not that I doubted that." He frowned and shifted uncomfortably on the couch. "Or I don't think I did, anyway." He found he wasn't as sure of that as he thought.

"Good. Since both bondmates' needs are equally important, the best prescription for any relationship is 'Be Blunt.' Tactfully, of course. But don't dance around issues or wait for the other to notice a problem. Don't hold in your feelings. Be utterly open. Use words, the bond, or both." Prime cocked his head. "What I find interesting is that you apparently find such openness hard with Prowl. You're not a shy 'bot, Jazz." He chuckled. "Why don't you feel free to tell Prowl anything that crosses your processor? Just because it's not romantic?"

Jazz stopped to really ponder the question, think through his feelings, and consider his reasoning. "I . . . really don't know. I mean, I'm _am_ blunt about everythin' else." He considered the one real model he had for relationships. "My genitors weren't all blunt, like yer suggestin'. Well, they were when they fought, but that's it. Then they were mean. But tellin' each other stuff when somethin' wasn't going right? Nah, not even once. They'd come to me and complain, but they never addressed it with each other." He groaned, mortified. "Ah, Primus! Don't tell me I turned out like them! What they did always frustrated me so much. I felt like a fraggin' mediator or somethin'."

"You probably have fallen into a similar pattern that you'll have to break and resist." Optimus stood and headed for the door. "By the way, Prowl has requested another leave time and submitted a destination. I hope while you're on vacation, you'll do your best to apply your new realizations. I like seeing my friends happy, but I also quite literally need you to say in top form."

Jazz stood and joined him. "I understand."

"Good." Prime paused at the door. His tone was kind but stern, moving away from the friend and more towards the commander. "Now go find my SIC and bring him back." He slipped out the door.

Feeling the worry surge through his systems again, Jazz dashed from the room, pressing into his bond with Prowl as hard as he dared and hoping it would help.

oOoOo

Prowl was awakened by the sound of a racing engine. He sat up blearily, having not realized he'd fallen into recharge, and recognized he was nearly wedged between the wall of a ravine and two boulders. He'd chosen the place because it would make him almost impossible to visually detect, but now his doorwings throbbed from being pinched. He tried to move, then realized he was stiff enough to need help getting out.

Of course, the pitch of the engine told him who was approaching: Jazz. The sheer familiarity of it made Prowl ache. What would it be like if the sound became rare to him? What if they had to break their bond, which was rumored to be insanely painful both physically and psychically, and then Prowl only heard Jazz's melodic voice within the context of work? Couldn't hold him close as they recharged?

Prowl whined faintly with the sudden surge of pain, wanting desperately to fix their relationship and feeling terrified that he couldn't.

The telltale clicking of a transformation told him Jazz had arrived, but the tone of Jazz's voice surprised him. He sounded panicked. "Prowler! Where are ya? I _feel_ that yer hurt!"

_Feel_? Prowl frowned, trying to make sense of it. Had Jazz tried to open up their bond? Was he reaching out to him? Sunstreaker had encouraged Prowl to work on communicating with the bond, so maybe it was time he tried. He concentrated, mentally grasping for the silver thread in his mind that connected him to Jazz, and he immediately sensed the flow of energy escaping him, like he'd released some of his pain. Had they really allowed it to get _that_ shut down?

Jazz gasped sharply, then scrambled over the top of the boulders. "Prowl!" He stared at him a moment. "Primus, how did ya get yerself in there?" He held out his hand. "Come on, let me help ya out."

Prowl took his hand, but even though they were careful, he still scraped his doorwings on the rocks as he stood. He grunted in pain and flinched forward, resting on one boulder.

"Ah, Prowler."

Jazz's voice was so soft it made Prowl want to weep for all that had once been between them. What if he couldn't restore it? He stared doggedly at the boulder, not daring to meet Jazz's gaze.

A gentle hand touched one doorwing. "Ya really got yerself good. Come on, we need to get ya the rest of the way out."

Jazz's voice was different, almost like it used to be, and Prowl's spark burned with the thought he might have lost that normalcy for good. Still, he nodded, accepting Jazz's hand again, and let his bondmate help him over the boulders. "Thank you," he whispered as he sank to the ground on the other side.

Settling behind him, Jazz inspected his doorwings. An awkward, heavy silence descended upon them when neither of them spoke, and Prowl wondered just how one approached discussing a problem like theirs, especially without starting a fight. The gentle hands soothing his doorwings gave him the courage to try, though.

"I am . . . sorry . . . you felt unappreciated," Prowl murmured, not bothering to hide his grimace since Jazz couldn't see his face. Jazz's words still stung him, however, making him prop up his knees and hug his legs to his chest. "I will do my best not to . . . bore you . . . anymore."

Jazz's caresses over his doorwings stopped. "I don't think yer borin'! Prowler, ya misunderstood." He sighed. "Look, I got angry, and I wasn't really thinkin' 'bout how I was wordin' stuff." He paused and sat beside him. "I've never thought that yer borin', and I'm sorry I made ya think so." He sighed again, this time heavier. "See, it's all about us not _talkin'_. What I am sayin' is that we need to work out a compromise. We need to balance each other's needs better. More than that, ya need to ask, and I need to tell."

Prowl's logic circuits slowly ground to life. The issue of communication, again. Had Sunstreaker grabbed Jazz as well, or had it been someone else? "A compromise?" A full one-third of his tactical programming dealt with compromises and middle grounds, mostly so he could navigate politics and bureaucracy as well as battlefields. This was something he could deal with much better than emotional smoke signals. "Very well. State your terms."

"Terms?" Jazz laughed. "Oh, Prowler, yer so literal." He grinned, the first real one around Prowl for several decaorns. "Okay, okay. Let's see. Let's set up a routine, excitin' outin'!"

Prowl tried not to let the oxymoron of 'routine exciting' freeze his logic circuits back into non-functionality. "Explain."

Jazz bumped his shoulder into Prowl's shoulder lightly. "Barrin' a battle, we set aside one night a decaorn to go out. The same night every decaorn, so ya know to schedule us that time off and set aside the time." His grin widened. "I get to pick the location and activity, and I promise not to take ya to a rock concert. But past that, we get to try new places and things together."

"That is acceptable." Prowl didn't even want to try imagining what Jazz would come up with. Still, it would be easier to ensure their success if he had a specific night to aim for.

"However!" Jazz held up one finger dramatically. "Once every, uh, six decaorns, ya gotta surprise me. I can brainstorm up a master list or set of preferences, if that'd help, but ya gotta choose the location and activities yerself." He chuckled. "Bonus points for romantic touches, wild adventure, or pullin' it off on the 'wrong' orn."

Prowl pondered the idea, even let his battle computer have a round with it. Strategies for surprise, a near-ambush, a sneaky execution . . . yes, he could handle that. "I agree to your terms, but only if you promise that, from now on, you'll tell me immediately if you feel anything is imbalanced in our relationship. I cannot care for you properly if I do not know there is a problem." He raised one optic ridge at Jazz. "You are subtle by nature, which is one thing I love about you, but that makes my job harder. In this, I need you to be obvious."

"Obvious, eh?" A wicked grin flashed over Jazz's face. "Like requestin' sashes and blindfolds for our little trip?"

Prowl's intakes skipped lightly. They hadn't tried such things in awhile, and Prowl had missed their passionate and sometimes unconventional lovemaking. "Ah, yes. Like that."

Jazz leaned into him. "So where are ya taking me for our leave?"

"Costa Rica. Private beach on the Nicoya Peninsula." Prowl tried to feel hopeful with this new development and their upcoming trip, but a sense of unease plagued him.

Jazz swept out his hand, gesturing toward the horizon. "A stretch of warm sand, swayin' palm trees, azure waves . . . Sounds lovely."

Prowl nodded, trying to smile, but he couldn't be excited. Despite Jazz's claim that he didn't find him boring, Prowl couldn't shake the implication that Jazz had been miserable just living an ordinary life with him. He understood that Jazz needed excitement and adventure, but if they were stuck in a situation where that couldn't happen, would Jazz stop loving him?

Hugging his legs tighter to his chest, Prowl bit back a wave of pain and decided to wait until their trip to broach the question. Maybe once Prowl had proven their compromise would be honored, Jazz would be less defensive, and it would be easier to discuss the issue.

* * *

_Postscript: Looks like I need 3 chapters instead of 2. Okay, the actual island trip will have to be in the next chapter._

_Thank you to the following for the wonderful reviews: Asher119, arliabreaker, Beregond5, TransFormers101, HURRICANEHannah, Refracted Imagination, last ditch, Shizuka Taiyou, OrianPrime92, and Apocrypha Blessing. I really appreciate it!_


	3. To Know

Rating is now M.

_"I gotta know tonight  
If you're alone tonight.  
Can't stop this feelin',  
Can't stop this fire.  
--"Hysteria," Def Leppard_

_**Chapter Three: To Know**_

Staring at his berth, Prowl sighed at the supplies he was packing. Jazz had gone to secure their energon for their trip, and Prowl found himself staring at the collection of musical selections Jazz wanted to bring, along with the silken sashes he'd requested. He lifted the black one, running fingers over the soft material and feeling a pulse of agony at the thought it might be never put to use. He was packing it on faith that they would work out their differences, but if he were wrong, it would be an empty gesture. Useless. The romantic playfulness and passion the sash represented would be lost.

Prowl let the sash fall into the small metal box, his depression and desperation washing over him, and tried to rein in his pain. How had they even ended up in such a situation? How had it come to this? Their fall into misunderstanding and dysfunction must have been long and slow considering Prowl couldn't trace it to a single point or event. With a second sigh, he put the top on the box and subspaced it.

The door opened, and a grinning Jazz bopped into the cabin. Prowl immediately soothed his expression to one of practiced neutrality. Jazz had seemed in good spirits since their talk and compromise, and he was clearly excited about their trip. Prowl refused to dampen his joy even though he still had concerns and unanswered questions. He would work on communication, just as Sunstreaker had suggested, but he felt an almost obsessive need to get away from the Ark first.

A faint brush against his bond made Prowl snap his attention to Jazz, whose worry was obvious from his frown and dimmed visor.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Jazz reached out, touching tentative fingers to Prowl's elbow. "Ya don't wanna go on this trip now?"

The voice was so quiet and pained it made Prowl flinch in spite of himself. "That's not it at all." _Although in a sense I don't wish to go. This trip will decide our fate, I suspect._ "It was just rather bumpy getting this worked out."

"Well, it _is_ a vacation." Jazz stepped back a step, putting a polite distance between them. "Let's rest from our ordeal, yeah?"

Prowl stared at him, not registering at first what was off and then realizing Jazz usually stood much closer to him. _I suppose he's feeling the pressure, too._ "Yes, let's."

Giving him a rather blank smile, Jazz nodded and headed for the door. "Skyfire's waitin' for us at the entrance. Let's go!" He bounded from the room, a picture of energy and excitement, and Prowl had to wonder how much of it was forced. He reached out, trying to use the bond, but all he got from Jazz was a vague sense of nervousness.

"Must keep trying," he muttered to himself as he followed Jazz out the door. _Failure is not an option._

Except, of course, that Jazz had to want to mend their relationship as much as he did. If he didn't, it would never work.

oOoOo

Jazz peered out of Skyfire's window at the verdant, green slopes and sharp red and white architecture of Costa Rica. Even from this altitude, he could see the beachfront on the Nicoya Peninsula and the azure, shallow water near the shore. Prowl had been quiet during the trip, reading a novel on a datapad and then finally drifting into recharge. Jazz, however, was caught somewhere between excitement and nervousness and had hopped from seat to seat, talking to Skyfire during much of the flight.

He knew something big was still up. Prowl was highly affectionate in private, but he had not hugged Jazz, held him as they recharged, or even kissed him since their issue had been brought into the open.

Jazz frowned to himself. Given this development and his talk with Prime, he'd been thinking almost nonstop about his genitors in addition to himself and Prowl: assumptions, hurts, trends, and cycles. He sighed, knowing it was something he'd have to address eventually, or he might find himself without a bondmate.

At that thought, Jazz shuddered. Their bondship, dissolved? A future without Prowl? Without his dry wit and soft smile? Without his steadfast encouragement or quick banter? Without that quiet love that meant Prowl always slept with his arms around him or at the very least with a hand pressed to his arm, leg, or side? No matter how angry he became, Jazz couldn't imagine wishing that away. Prowl was worth fighting for, even if Jazz did want to whack him in the processor from time to time.

"Still want to make a jump?" Skyfire asked, slowing considerably as he lowered his altitude.

Prowl had roused himself and was looking vaguely disgruntled. "If Jazz wishes."

"Slag, yeah!" Jazz grabbed a parachute and made his way to Skyfire's door. "Let's arrive in style."

With a good-natured groan, Prowl snagged his own parachute and joined him, and once Skyfire was satisfied with his altitude and speed, they jumped. Jazz yelled and whooped on the way down, loving the wind whipping over him, cherishing the sight of the trees and beaches from up high, and doing some midair acrobatics before deploying the chute. Prowl followed silently, touching down with an impressive amount of grace.

Jazz grinned, looking around the lush field they'd landed in, and brought his GPS online. "Cool. We're less than a megamile off our target. A quick drive'll get us there."

"Or walk." Prowl gestured at the thick mass of palm trees encroaching on the field.

"Or walk," Jazz agreed amicably, setting off. He chatted about whatever came to mind - music mostly, and he played snippets from a new symphony he'd discovered - as they struggled through the undergrowth. He was concerned with Prowl's brief replies, which weren't terse but were rather distant, but the sounds of rhythmic, crashing surf and the salty smell of sea water helped Jazz to remain calm. The thought of having the private beach all to themselves also helped since he knew they'd get some quality alone-time.

When they finally reached the shore, though, Jazz was truly awed. The sun was setting, casting a crimson glow on the beach, and as Jazz ran forward, the sand felt warm under his feet. He offlined his optics momentarily, focusing entirely on the beauty of the nature's music: the gentle roar of the waves and the calls of sea gulls.

And mixed in was Prowl's melodic voice. "Do you like it?"

Jazz onlined his optics again and grinned. "Totally! It's gorgeous. So unlike anythin' on Cybertron, ya know?"

"I'm glad." Prowl settled on the beach, staring out at the waves. "It's rather peaceful, don't you think?"

Jazz gazed at his bondmate, his anxiety returning full force. Those tense doorwings, held high on Prowl's back, that subtle, sad frown . . . He'd hoped they had worked out most of their problem, but he realized they hadn't. He sat beside Prowl, watching him carefully. "Will ya tell me what's wrong now?"

"Is this the kind of thing you're looking for?" Prowl asked quietly.

"Sure." Jazz felt a bit unsure how to proceed. Couldn't they just be okay again?

Prowl nodded and propped up his knees, almost folding in on himself. "I will attempt to provide you with as many such experiences as possible, then."

"Sounds good." Jazz frowned at the carefully controlled way Prowl spoke and the way he hugged his knees. They were both sure signs that he was upset. "Hey, it's not just 'bout me, either. Talk to me, man." He nudged their bond open a bit, trying to get a read on Prowl's feelings and what he needed.

Prowl hugged his legs to his chest. "I can give you these experiences here. But, Jazz . . . what if we'd never left Cybertron? Our world was a burnt-out husk. Eventually, the last few nice places would have been destroyed in the fighting, and then there would be nowhere special to go! I couldn't surprise you with anything or take you to any new places." His doorwings began quivering. "The only adventure I could offer you would be the dangerous mission kind. And if that's the case, our lives would be mundane and routine." Coolant pooled in his optics from the strain on his systems. "Would you still love me then?"

The backlash of pain from the bond was extreme, snapping through Jazz's systems in a burn and mixing with his own shock and hurt. "What the frag kind of question is that! Of course I'd still love ya." He scooted closer to Prowl's side, grabbing him and pulling him to his chest. "Do ya think I only love ya when we're on special trips like this? Did ya think I didn't love ya every single orn for the last four vorns? The whole reason I put ya first was because I _love you!_ " He sighed and hugged Prowl closer to him, rubbing his back between his doorwings. "I wasn't mad because things were routine. _Life_ is a routine. I was mad 'cause I thought ya didn't care 'bout my needs. I _need_ some kind of excitement in my life, whether I'm single or bonded, and I _want_ that excitement and variety to include _you_." He pressed a kiss to the top of Prowl's head.

Prowl curled into him and didn't reply, but his doorwings still quivered.

"Do ya think yer unloveable?" Jazz drew air slowly through his intakes, calming himself first so he could help calm Prowl. He hugged his mate tighter, pressing another kiss to his helm. "I remember what ya told me 'bout yer previous lovers and all those jerks when ya were younger that said ya were borin' or whatever." He moved his concentration to the bond, trying to widen the stream. "They didn't know what the frag they were talkin' 'bout. Yer actually highly refined and cultured, and ya always hold these deep, meaningful conversations with me. Ya know? I get tired of shallow, surface conversations and small talk. Even when yer talkin' work or everyday things, there's this force of personality behind it. And more often than not, we talk 'bout really intellectual stuff, like philosophy and culture and belief systems. Yer one of only three 'bots I've ever known that I could seriously debate meaning-of-life stuff with."

Prowl rested his head on Jazz's shoulder, but his reply was relegated to a simple "Mm."

Mentally grabbing hold of the silvery string attaching his spark to Prowl's, Jazz forced his feelings across the link: love and reassurance. Jazz frowned at how hard it'd been, but he set aside the thought when Prowl gasped, his doorwings abruptly flicking upward. Jazz grinned, thinking they looked like butterfly wings, and reached out, caressing one panel with a soothing stroke. "I love that 'bout ya, Prowler," he whispered. "I could never be happy with someone inane or vapid. I'm never bored when we talk. I love playin' games with ya or attendin' symphonies or any of the other stuff ya like to do. All I was tryin' to tell ya the other orn was that I wanted us to do more of the stuff I like to do. And I do mean _us_, together."

Prowl relaxed suddenly, so suddenly his doorwings flopped against his back. "I'm glad you think so. I had thought maybe . . . so then I was worried that . . . well, I was beginning to wonder if I'd be able to fix this."

"'I,'" Jazz repeated, dipping his hand to rub the underside of one relaxed doorwing. "What's this 'bout 'I'?" He shook his head at himself, remembering all Prime had told him. "It takes two to keep a relationship goin' or fix a problem. Ya won't be doin' this alone. We'll be doin' it together."

"Okay." Prowl's voice was thin and quiet, and the doorwing under Jazz's hand twitched.

Jazz grinned, realizing his touches were doing more than simply soothing. "I can also attest to the fact that yer passionate." He leaned forward and kissed the back of Prowl's neck, drawing a shiver from him. "_Very_ passionate. There ain't nothin' cold 'bout ya."

A tremulous chuckle met this declaration, and from the other side of the bond came a mental caress of affection. "Thank you."

"My pleasure." Jazz stroked the edge of one doorwing. "Or maybe yers." He continued his ministrations until he had a lap full of strutless Datsun. Jazz listened to Prowl's purring engine as he fell into recharge and dared to hope they'd found their way.

oOoOo

By the following evening, Jazz realized all was still not well. Not only had they not made love, but Prowl also had not held him during the night like he normally did. Arguments in the past had revealed that Prowl wouldn't interface until he felt utterly safe and reconnected, and since Prowl was normally fairly physical, the absence of love-making was a clear sign. Therefore, Jazz knew his bondmate was still holding something in, and it made him uneasy. As Jazz walked along the beach behind Prowl, watching his bondmate rescue fallen coconuts from the tides, he decided to confront the matter directly and not waste any more time.

"Prowler," he said, observing the way the sunset tinted his white paint crimson, "what's eatin' at ya?"

Prowl straightened from his self-appointed chore and shrugged faintly. "Nothing."

Taking in the stiffly-held doorwings high on his back, Jazz smirked. "Liar."

Narrowed optics bespoke irritation. "It's. Nothing." He stalked up the beach to deposit the rescued coconuts under a palm tree. "We've made our peace. That is all that matters."

Jazz followed, considering his options. "Ya didn't even touch me last night, even though I was fondlin' yer doorwings. I'd say we haven't actually reached that peace."

Standing abruptly, Prowl glanced over his shoulder, his doorwings twitching. "Very well. There is one final question that has been bothering me. And something I would like to reiterate or clarify."

"Shoot." Jazz willed himself to stay calm, but with the bond a bit more open, he could feel Prowl's pain leaking through. It made him wary and nervous.

Prowl turned to face him, and the setting sun cast sharp shadows on his face. "I'm still somewhat confused about why you didn't speak up. I understand that we weren't communicating well, but don't you think I love you enough to take care of your needs? Have I ever said 'no' to you or failed to at least work out a compromise? Do you see me as some kind of monster that will demand everything and give nothing?" He shook his head. "Jazz, any time you need something, I will do my best to give it to you. So let me say it again: all I require is the knowledge of the need. Explain it in advance, like you did when asking me to routinely surprise you, or tell me bluntly in the moment. I like bluntness. Just _tell me_."

"Okay! _Okay_." Jazz bristled, reminded of Prime's accusations and knowing it was, in the end, half his fault. He crossed his arms over his chest.

Prowl sighed and stepped closer, squeezing his shoulders with his hands. "Sorry. I wasn't trying to jump your case." He frowned, looking deeply worried. "But I am concerned about why you didn't speak up sooner."

Jazz pulled away and knelt on the beach. Prime's similar question had left him thinking about his genitors, which had led to his analyzing his entire life, and he didn't like what he'd realized. "It's just that I . . . sometimes wonder if I'm . . . too emotional."

"Too emotional?" Prowl sat on the sand beside him, sounding positively shocked.

"Yeah. In a world where a 'bot is measured by his tech specs and his performance in science or the military, overly-emotional 'bots are often treated as _defective_." Jazz shrugged and shifted to fully sit on the beach. "Oh, it's okay as long as yer battle-hungry or hate the enemy or mad over a comrade's death. Hell, it's even okay if yer humorous and laugh a lot." He growled, finding that the issue made him much angrier than he'd realized. "But emotions like love and romance or traits like sensitivity or empathy . . . they're seen by allota 'bots as _weak_." He reached out with one finger and slashed a single line into the sand.

"Bumblebee has those traits," Prowl said softly, canting his head to one side. "No one thinks less of him."

Jazz snorted and jabbed the sand again, drawing a second line. "No, but they also consider him a younglin'. Of course, he is young, but he's not a younglin'. And that's how they think of him and treat him: like a fraggin' _child_." He growled again, his engine revving. It was all so _stupid_, but even the mere act of drawing attention to it got 'bots accused of being hysterical.

Prowl held up one finger. "True. But Optimus also has those traits. Do you think anyone other than the 'Cons believe he is weak? And even though they say he's weak, they all fear him, save Megatron."

"But he can set aside those feelings to make a slaggin' command decision." Jazz felt so frustrated he didn't dare look up. After all, it wasn't Prowl's fault society was that way. He dashed his fingers through the lines, as though he could somehow destroy the trends he saw.

"So can you."

Jazz sighed and slumped forward, exhausted from the effort of explaining. "But my 'weak' emotions are only accepted and tolerated within the context of morale-boostin'." Finally, he looked up, pinning Prowl with the glare he knew marred his face. "Don't ya _get_ it? Despite all the slag ya get for supposedly bein' cold and humorless, yer the epitome of what our society respects: logical, stoic, strong, and protective." He threw up both his hands in a gesture of exasperation. "Compared to you, I _am_ hysterical. Yer not given to sentimentality, don't get upset easily, make practical decisions, and _never_ get hysterical. Settin' aside for the moment that yer a brilliant tactician, it's _why_ our troops respect ya so much. Even when they're mad at ya for being too strict, they still respect ya."

"Even Sideswipe?" Prowl asked with a small smile.

"Even Sideswipe," Jazz replied in all seriousness. He stood abruptly and started down the beach, feeling too restless to sit still. Behind his rage, he felt a flash of panic, like he was screwing something up. He glanced out at the horizon, having found the ocean to be soothing, but the sun had finished setting, casting darkness over the water.

Prowl jumped up and ran a few steps to catch up with him. "Jazz, there is no one except Prime himself that our troops respect more than you." His brow furrowed with obvious concern. "They love you, never say cruel things about you, and never make fun of you like they do me. _Because_ of your love, sensitivity, and empathy, you can get them to be excited and confident about even the worst of missions. They would never see you as weak."

"It's because I control it. Slaggin' near suffocate it." Jazz frowned, kicking the water as a wave raced forward over his feet. "If I reacted the way I really want to, it'd be different. The only time I can really be me is when I'm lovin' music. Because it's who I am, down to my spark and designation, no one shorts a circuit no matter how emotional I get listenin' to music."

Prowl reached out and took his hand, squeezing it. "What is this about, hm?" His optics dimmed with apparent concern and confusion. "You don't think I accept you as is? You can be yourself around me. I've been inside your spark, remember? I'm carrying a piece of it in my chest now. I didn't balk at or reject any piece of you I saw."

"I suppose the same was true for my genitors," Jazz muttered. A surge of anger and hate singed his wires with its sudden force, making his vocalizer hiss with static. "They bonded and saw each other's sparks. But my carrier often scorned my sparker for bein' too emotional or sentimental. Said no decisions would ever be made if he didn't make them. That my sparker was silly and vapid and couldn't be taken seriously." He trembled as his buried anguish over the memories shot through his systems. "But I'm just like my sparker! What does that mean?" He squeezed the hand he held brutally hard. "I was always bein' told to stop cryin', to be more practical, to stop bein' stupid . . ." He trailed off, biting the inside of his lip in an attempt to control himself.

Prowl's optics flared suddenly, then returned to their normal illumination. "You think that since I'm so logical and unsentimental that I'm going to write off your more emotional needs." He stopped walking and tugged on Jazz's hand, forcing him to stop as well. "You think that your most romantic needs don't have value, even as your own self-confidence demands that you take them seriously and get them met. So you said nothing, thinking you would be scorned and afraid you'd run me off with disgust."

Terrified by the truth behind the words and what might happen next, Jazz pulled his hand away and didn't reply, suddenly finding the broken oyster shell that had washed up on the shore to be exceedingly fascinating. Yet Prime's words echoed in his processor: _'he constantly gathers data on you: your words, your behavior, your body language, your tone. But he can't easily intuit what is not overtly expressed . . . He takes in as much information as he can because he loves you and is trying to attend to you. But before he can arrive at the right conclusion, he has to have a complete set of data.'_ Jazz frowned, realizing that Prowl had been able to arrive at the right conclusion only because he gave him enough information to do so.

"We're both fools."

At the unexpected words, Jazz jerked and stared up at Prowl. "Wha . . .?"

Prowl laughed lightly, although it had an ironic ring to it. "You think I'm not going to love you enough to take you seriously, and I think you're going to find me too boring to love." He sank his face in his hands and laughed, but this time there was no humor in the sound. "We're both fools."

"When ya say it like that, I have to agree." Jazz pinched the bridge of his nose and walked up the beach to sit on a spot the waves wouldn't reach. Stated aloud in such a way, the concepts seemed ludicrous, and Jazz felt spark-weary and exhausted. However, it didn't escape his notice that Prowl had, in fact, taken him utterly seriously and listened attentively just as he had for everything else Jazz said. "What now?"

Prowl glanced up and dropped his hands. "First of all, I bonded with you _because_ of your vivacious emotions." He put one hand on his chest, over his spark. "They warm me. You're like a force of _life_ burning in my spark."

Putting his hand over his own spark, Jazz nodded, a tiny smile hovering on his lips at the reassuring words.

Frowning, Prowl walked over and knelt in front of Jazz. "I'd throttle you for thinking there is anything about you I don't love, except that would be hypocritical since I made the same mistake."

"Yeah, it sure would," Jazz said with a flash of irritation.

Prowl sighed and took both of Jazz's hands. "Obviously, love itself and the bond alone aren't enough to eradicate past wounds. I'm guessing that means it must be love experienced, repeatedly and over time, that heals wounds like ours." He brought Jazz's hands to his lips, kissing one, then the other. "So, secondly, I want to reiterate that I insist you tell me your needs no matter how sentimental, romantic, or supposedly silly they are. I promise to never laugh at you or brush you off, much less do something so cruel as to scorn you."

"Okay." Jazz gave him a small smile. When he stopped and tried to imagine it, he really couldn't see Prowl laughing at him. _Maybe I just put up with my genitors' slag one vorn too long. It's like I absorbed it._ "I suppose my fear is irrational."

"All fears have basis in experience, they just get misapplied in the future." Prowl scooted forward, crawling between Jazz's knees and still holding his hands. "I value you and fell in love with you for who and what you are, and as your bondmate, it's my duty to take care of you. So I need to know even the most 'irrational' things." He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Jazz's lips.

"And it's not my duty to take care of _you_?" Jazz watched the smile bloom over Prowl's face, brightening his optics.

Prowl brushed his lips over his again. "You already are. All I needed to know was that you could enjoy everyday life with me, no matter how mundane it may be."

"I swear I didn't mean to imply I didn't." Jazz pulled his hands out of Prowl's and touched his fingers to his cheek, tracing the seam there. "Won't ya forgive me for that?"

"I forgive you." Prowl settled between his legs and wrapped his arms around his shoulders. "Do you forgive me?"

Jazz felt the strain begin to drain from him. Prowl was smiling at him, touching him, loving him. "Of course."

Prowl nodded. "Good." He hugged him. "Then just let me say that I'm sorry your carrier treated you that way. That you had to watch your sparker be treated in such a way. That is not what I call love. If you love your bondmate, then you cherish him." He pressed a kiss to Jazz's cheek. "You don't belittle him. You build him up." He kissed one audio horn as well.

Jazz shivered at the tingling that rushed through his body. "I-I agree."

"You protect him and support him." Prowl slowly lowered Jazz to the sand and smiled at him. "Love comforts and heals. If it's demeaning, humiliating, hurtful, or insensitive, it is not love, and I admit I was terrified we'd lost our sensitivity to each other. I didn't want that." He leaned down and captured Jazz's lips for a longer kiss, slipping his glossa into his mouth and teasing him before pulling away. "Looks like we have to begin again to assure each other of our love." Tracing one finger down the seam on Jazz's chest, he watched him closely. "Would you merge sparks with me?"

Feeling his systems heating up, Jazz nodded and reached up to trace Prowl's lips with his fingertips. They hadn't shared sparks in a long time, and Jazz suddenly yearned to feel Prowl's essence mixed with his again. It would blow the bond wide open once more and show them their love for each other in such an intimate way that there would be no lies or hidden truths between them. They would be able to know with certainty that their love for each other was still real. "Yes," he whispered. "I want to feel ya."

Prowl smiled at him, a brilliant smile he hadn't seen in several decaorns, and pressed their lips together again, gently at first and then more passionately, slipping his glossa into his mouth once more. Jazz moaned, capturing Prowl's helm in his hands and realizing he needed this badly. It could never be enough to satisfy his needs by 'facing just anyone; he specifically needed _Prowl_.

Clutching his mate to him, Jazz linked one leg over his, letting one hand stroke Prowl's left doorwing. Prowl gasped but refused to be distracted, kissing slowly and tenderly down Jazz's neck and stopping to suck on a neck cable. Hands caressed Jazz's frame, teasing a headlight, dipping into a transformation seam, and infusing Jazz with warmth. At the same time, Prowl's energy field extended, sifting through his own like gentle fingers and drawing a moan from him as the heat rushed over his circuits. As their fields synched, Jazz could feel Prowl's absolute care and love flowing over him.

"Prowl," Jazz moaned, wanting nothing more than to call his love's name as Prowl's mouth followed his hands, licking the rim of one headlight and tracing it slowly with his glossa. He arched into the touch, grasping at Prowl's shoulders, and gasped as Prowl slipped his hand under his bumper, fondling the wires there. The heat building in their shared energy field poured through him in warm, tender waves.

Not about to let Prowl have all the fun, Jazz resumed his attention to Prowl's doorwings, running his hand around the top edges. One thing he never grew tired of was watching Prowl's careful control unfurl and slip away. From the beginning, it had awed him that Prowl trusted him enough to come undone in his presence, and as Jazz watched him throw his head back, optics shuttered and lips parted in ecstasy, he decided he'd never seen anything more beautiful. "That's right," Jazz whispered, slipping his hands over the doors' fronts and tracing the demarcation lines. "Let go for me."

Prowl rested his hot cheek against Jazz's bumper and moaned deeply. "Jazz . . ."

"Yer beautiful," Jazz whispered. He smiled, reaching up just long enough to trace tender fingers over Prowl's face and press a kiss to his chevron. Then he continued his gentle caresses on Prowl's quivering doorwings, stroking the seams where the window glass met the door frames and drawing whimpers from his bonded.

Finally, Prowl roused himself, giving Jazz a smile before licking up the seam in his chest. "Open up for me, love."

Without hesitation, Jazz folded back the armor over his spark chamber, desperately wanting to be joined. "I want to feel ya inside me," he said again, his spark burning in his frame from the need.

Prowl transformed the armor away from his chamber as well and pushed up Jazz's body until their sparks were aligned. He leaned down, whispering into Jazz's sensitive audio horn and making him shiver. "I want to feel you, too." Even as he said the words, their sparks began reacting to their close proximity, reaching out tendrils that met and caressed each other, making them both whimper.

Arching his back, Jazz tried to press closer, but Prowl held his shoulders down. "Um-mn," he murmured, and a flash of gentle humor passed over the opening bond. More tendrils stretched outward between them, the energy lapping at their sparks, and Jazz moaned at the teasing, writhing in Prowl's grip. More and more tendrils extended; each one licked at the core of energy in their chests, sending waves of heat, of shivers, of tingling pleasure racing through Jazz's circuits and lines and making him gasp and whimper and beg. "Please, Prowl . . . I need ya!"

Prowl had gone rigid above him with the effort of holding back, his doorwings vibrating with the stress, but at Jazz's words he thrust their sparks together, making them both cry out with the explosion of shared pleasure. Jazz arched up into Prowl, this time freely, his sense of self bleeding away as their essences filtered into each other. Prowl's love washed through him, unconditional and unrestrained, and it eased away the remnants of pain and fear, showing him Prowl's dedication to him and his well-being. Jazz sobbed in relief under Prowl's warm weight, holding him tightly.

"Prowler," he whispered, pressing his face against Prowl's neck and whispering his name over and over in pleasure and relief. Drawing a deep breath, he flooded the bond with his own feelings: his deep love for Prowl, his enjoyment of their time together, his respect for him as a person, and his utter cherishing of all Prowl was. Prowl gasped against his audio and sank further into their bond, releasing all his tension and anxiety as well. Then they were one spark and one mind, caressing and breathing in each other's essences and exulting in the joy of being intimately and permanently connected.

They realized, however, that they couldn't hold this state forever, and the part that was Jazz reached up to caress a doorwing, unleashing a torrent of pleasure between them. Their sparks and energy fields throbbed together, drawing renewed gasps and whimpers from them, and Jazz dipped his fingers into Prowl's door hinges while Prowl stroked his audio horns, sending waves of tingles and tremors through them both. They looped the sensations through their sparks and bond, flooding each other with shared pleasure until they were both crying out and overloading.

A burst of white static interrupted Jazz's awareness, and then he was staring at the inky blackness of the night sky, which was broken by twinkling specs of yellow, white, and red stars. The waves crashed rhythmically against the beach, rushing up the shore to lap at the edges of the dry sand. Prowl was lying on Jazz's chest, their spark chambers now closed, stroking his side in lazy, tender caresses. Their frames popped as the metal cooled, and their bond buzzed with warmth between them.

"We need to merge sparks more often," Jazz murmured ruefully.

Prowl chuckled. "Indeed." He glanced up at him with a smile. "Well, we haven't even used the silk scarves yet, and the night is young. We can get a head start."

Jazz laughed and lovingly trailed his fingers over Prowl's helm and face. "And I do need to pay ya back for teasin' me so much."

"You do that." Prowl smiled wider and snuggled up to Jazz's chassis.

Jazz grinned and rubbed Prowl's back between his doorwings. All seemed right with Prowl in his arms, and Jazz had hope they'd continue to find their way now that the issues were out in the open and solutions had been discussed. "As soon as I gather up some more energy," he promised, already plotting to make it special. Then again, their love was special.

It was a bond worth cherishing.

* * *

_Postscript: And I made it. Thank you once again to Asher119 and pl2363 for beta reading._

_Thank you to the following for wonderful reviews: JazzyProwl, TransFormers101, OrianPrime92, Rubyswordsmaster, Refracted Imagination, Yami-Yugi3, iamtheIcestar, 'HURRICANE'Hannah, and Illusion224._


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